


Tempest [Book III]

by deltachye



Series: Tales of the Wind [3]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Drabble Collection, Explicit Language, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reader-Insert, Romance, Romantic Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-16 22:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8119207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x haymitch abernathy, age 16] [book III/IV of "Tales of the Wind"]Violence. Broken ships, broken sailors, and broken minds... a storm that seems never-ending. When Haymitch is reaped for the second Quarter Quell, he realizes that his life might be headed into a dark place of no return...





	1. I - Rain

* * *

 

 It was raining on the day of the 50th reaping of the annual Hunger Games.

Haymitch woke to find you sitting at the large bay window, staring outside as if waiting for something. He knew you hadn’t slept — you never did anymore — and stood to rub your bare shoulders.

“It’ll be fine,” he mumbled to you. “I promise.”

“Your brother’s in there too, today…” you said, almost sadly. Then you sighed. “It rained on the day I won, too.”

He wanted to tell you that it wasn’t, that the raindrops were actually just droplets of frozen blood, but he couldn’t.


	2. II - Cycle

The peacekeepers looked confused when you showed up — victors didn’t have to be reaped, anyways. You refused to leave though, so he was followed into the male’s sectioned by a very disorientated woman.  
   
“Where’s…”  
   
He found his brother soon enough, and the young man of 12 knew enough to smile at you and pat your wrist.  
   
“It’ll be fine,” he said in a squeaky voice, mimicking Haymitch’s earlier words.  
   
You smiled falsely back — after all, it was a cycle of people pretending to be fine, lying to one another about being all right.


	3. III - No Surprises

The only emotion he felt when he was chosen was numbness.

You didn’t touch him. You didn’t look at him. It was if you had no idea who Abernathy, Haymitch was to you — you merely stood and waited.

Only when he leaned over to kiss your cheek did you realize, and he had already left.

He turned around to see you holding his brother by the shoulders, reassuring him as his face screwed in an attempt not to cry. 

There were no surprises exchanged between the two of you. Only regret that there wasn’t more time.


	4. IV - Embraces

He embraced his brother and told him to stay strong — held his mother and told her not to worry. You watched on, looking awkward as you shifted your weight away and back.

You were to be his mentor anyways. It wasn’t like last time; a short simple kiss and not even a finished declaration of love to pass by.

His family left him, both giving you touches on your shoulder. You crossed over the room and looked up at him studiously, and he suddenly felt self-conscious of his charcoal eyes resembling the Seam.

The kiss was bitter.


	5. V - Mistaking Vodka for Water

The train ride was empty.

Even with 3 other tributes than normal, they steered clear from you. Probably because you had sat yourself away from the luxurious food, which they were gobbling down like rabid animals. Haymitch stuck with you, bringing over rolls and chocolate.

A servant came by to pour you some water, which you accepted glumly only to gag. Haymitch knew the scent wafting up well. Vodka.

“I’m so sorry!” the woman squeaked, fretting, but you made no comment. You chugged the tall glass and slammed it on the table.

“More,” you demanded, averting eye contact with him.


	6. VI - Strategizing

“You’ve got to tell us _something_ ,” the male tribute pleaded from you. After that one tasting of alcohol you hadn’t stopped — turning into an underage, PTSD suffering drunk.

You pursed your lips, sipping up more of the candy-coloured liquid. “’Kay.”

You gave them a list of things, most of which were stupid ideas like “try to grow wings and _flyyyyyy_ away”, but a few stuck.

“…And here’s another thing, stay alive. Dun’ die.” You added after the long list. You then guffawed and then sauntered away, bottle of spirit sloshing behind you.

“She’s crazy,” he concluded, not looking at Haymitch.


	7. VII - Fractured

Your first nights had been sleepless, but after your drunken spells you managed to pass out. The only problem was that it was always at the wrong times.

He tried to rouse you desperately, to which you did only after water had been dumped on you by Maysilee Donner.

“Pull her together,” she told him crossly, slamming the metal container on the floor as you spluttered.

Haymitch damn well tried. It was easier to break a shard of glass than stitch it back together.


	8. VIII - Deafening Silence

“Please, talk to me…”

You turned to look at him, a deep emptiness in your eyes. You said nothing to him at all. Again, he tried:

“Are you doing okay?”

You smiled coldly in response, saying nothing, allowing the silence to roar on as you looked out the train windows.


	9. IX - Broken Dishes

_Broken Dishes_ was the playground equivalent of saying ‘You’re a dirty liar and a fucking cheat’. If you opened your eyes too early on the equipment, they would point and scream: “Broken dishes!” And you’d be caught and done. 

Haymitch knelt and swept up the shards of porcelain, stopped by a maid who came by to clean them up. You shuddered in your seat, your hand shaking as blood trailed from the cut on your wrist.

“Broken dishes,” you muttered to yourself, eyes shut tightly. 

He couldn’t say anything in response.


	10. X - Make-Up Transformations

If it weren’t required of you to be present during the opening ceremonies, you would’ve declined immediately. He felt ridiculous in his costume and the others all knew it, too; in the chariot, they merely stood, grim-faced. One of the tributes from some other district muttered something that resonated with him deeply:

“Fuckin’ shitshow.”

When he was escorted back, he stopped dead, amazed by your transformation. They had done you up again; like when you had first gone to the games; but it was more muted. You were beautiful.

And you were also swiping tears off your cheeks.


	11. XI - Mirror Stains

“I don’t look like myself.”

The large mirror went from floor to ceiling and spanned the entire wall, allowing all members in the room to see themselves. You had wandered up to the mirror and looked at your reflection, pinching your skin and touching your hair. You touched the image of yourself, leaving a fingerprint behind to mar the reflection. You turned and looked at the tributes of 12.

“You all look like fucking performers,” you muttered, stalking off into your room. The door slammed shut. Haymitch’s eyes caught on the fingerprint smear you’d left.


	12. XII - High Heels

You leant on Haymitch heavily, curses spilling out from your mouth with each step. For the first time in a long time, he laughed slightly, humour lightening the weight on his chest.

“You look dumb,” he noted as you struggled forwards in the high heels.

“We never had these shitty death contraptions back home,” you snapped, before noticing the smile on his face. You looked away quickly and frowned, slowing. He moved with you.

“We didn’t have a lot of things in 12,” you said quietly, “but at least I had you.”

Your voice broke and you fell.


	13. XIII - Parties

Growing up, there had never been things such as ‘parties’. The word was only just that to him—a word in a dictionary, nothing more. The party was in full swing and some tributes from the higher districts swayed and gyrated in lewd, disgusting ways that made his blood run hot. 

“You think they’ll be smiling like that in the stadium?” you commented, sitting at his side. He sighed and shrugged.

“Maybe.”

“Mitch.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you dare die.” 

With that you stood shakily and left, and he did not follow.


	14. XIV - Independence

Back at home his father and mother had never really given him rules about anything. “Don’t wander off”, “don’t talk back to the officers”, “don’t cause trouble”—but he’d never had restrictions. However, being here with all these cameras pointed at him to follow his every fucking move… he felt more alone.

“The word is independence,” you had said to him, as if reading his mind. The flute of champagne in your fingers bubbled languidly. You took a swig, throwing the glass aside on the table. “You’re a big kid now. Feels good, don’t it?”

“No,” he had thought.


	15. XV - Insecurities

“I look bad,” Maysilee Donner muttered, as each tribute’s profile came up on screen. The other female tribute hugged her knees—he had never learnt her name—and the other male frowned sullenly at his own face. 

“You look fine,” you suddenly said, surprising everybody with your appearance. Haymitch’s heart fell at the sight of the bottle in your hand, but you pointed to the screen, drawing everybody’s attention.

“You look worse when you’re dead. So take pride in yourself now.”

“She’s fucked in the head,” the other boy muttered. 

“We all are,” Haymitch replied, wincing at his own face.


	16. XVI - Rumours

“Rumour has it that 12’s mentor is a skank drunk at 16.”

“Oh yeah? Good to know we got less comp, then. I’m so glad our mentor’s competent.”

Haymitch ignored the two tributes as they spoke loudly, obviously trying to rile up the district 12 tributes. He remembered the trap you had made so long ago, the one you had based off of the ones you and he had fashioned in 12. Testing it, he threw an apple into the snare, and watched as the juice splattered the other tribute’s hair.

“You fucker!” she shrilled, and he smiled wearily.


	17. XVII - Secret Notes

Haymitch got back to his room, about to fall onto the bed before seeing a heavy paper note laid carefully on top. Opening it, he recognized your clumsy handwriting and read so quickly that he needed to re-read several times before absorbing the words. 

_I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you;_

_I still love you. Please survive._

He swallowed thickly and held the note close to his heart, feeling the rhythm through the cardstock.


	18. XVIII - Perfume

Back in 12, you had smelled of grime and dust, like everybody else. After returning from your victory you had smelled less like the air and more like the Capitol—sugary and sweet, like rotting apples. Now you smelled only of alcohol, they sting of it burning his nostrils.

You let go of the hug and bowed your head. “I should leave,” you muttered.

“No.” He wrapped his strong arms around you and kept you close, ignoring the scent of death and focusing on what little warmth you had instead.


	19. XIX - Pretentious Attitudes

“Listen up. The games begin in less than 24 hours.”

“I know,” the other boy growled, “and what have you done? Jack shit.”

“Stop being pretentious,” you snapped, stunning everybody with your sudden functionality. You crossed your arms and stared down at them from atop the steps, your glare fiery. “Don’t talk shit if you don’t have a knife to back yourself up. Listen to me and listen well. Remember…”

Weren’t you the one being pretentious? The one pretending to have more than what you had?

Haymitch didn’t see a knife on you to back your words up.


	20. XX - Fireworks

“We used to never see fireworks.”

After your little spiel rant, you had gone to the rooftop, and he had followed. The fire in the sky bloomed like flowers, and he couldn’t help but be mesmerized despite having seen them every night since arriving in the Capitol. 

“They’re beautiful,” he muttered wistfully. You turned to him, the red of the last firework reflected in your eyes. You opened your mouth to say something but the noise drowned it out.

“Nevermind,” you said, shaking your head. You leant against him, the both of you watching the fireworks.


	21. XXI - Self Loathing

He hated himself. That was all he could think of as he paced his room, thinking about how his family was feeling. How you were feeling. He hated himself for getting here, he hated himself for not killing himself earlier; he hated himself for wanting to die so easily when he should be thinking about victory. He hated himself for wanting the others to die. He hated himself for allowing himself to be born into this time. 

“Mitch?” you asked, knocking on his door.

“Leave me alone!” he barked. Your footsteps faded away obligingly. 

He hated himself for that, too.


	22. XXII - Notoriety

It appeared that you had gained a lot of fame. Over and over people kept coming up to you, asking how you had trained that wolf so long ago. They asked how you had won. They asked how you felt, whom you wanted to win.

“Nobody,” you said coldly, your eyes piercing deep into the camera. “I hope nobody wins. Especially not the fucking Capitol.”

That was when your fame turned to notoriety, and that was when the other sacrifices—tributes—learned to love you like he did.


	23. XXIII - Daddy's Gun

“Would it be best to have a gun or a knife?” the other boy asked you, now that you had gotten sober enough to answer. You thought about it, lips pressed shut.

“Can you shoot?” you questioned.

“Good enough. My dad used to take me hunting.”

“You gotta think about ammo. Will you have enough? Knives go forever but guns become useless after you’re out. But…”

“But?” he pressed, leaning close to you. You looked at Haymitch as you said,

“you can kill yourself faster with a gun.”


	24. XXIV - Dead Leaves

None of the tributes were allowed to go around in the Capitol, but with the technology, it seemed as if he were. In his room he could call up images of a forest, leaves yellowed and brown. They fell around him, but he could only think of angels—dead leaves, feathered holy beings—falling, crashing, down to Earth and reality. 

He stepped, but did not hear the crunch of dead leaves under his heel, nor the crunch of those angel’s spines.


	25. XXV - Tobacco Smoke

“You’re smoking now, too?”  
   
You turned, startled with his sudden entrance. You looked as if you might extinguish the cigarette between you fingers but decided against it, holding it out.  
   
“Smoking and drinking will kill you early.”  
   
“I know,” you said as he took the cigarette, “I’m trying to speed that shit up.”  
   
He took a draw and choked on the smoke, ignoring the tears brought to his eyes. You turned to look at him and kissed him, stealing the smoke out of his mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, “please… don’t…”  
   
You didn’t finish the thought and turned away.


	26. XXVI - Trials and Tribulations

A trial was a test. A tribulation was a great deal of suffering.

Clawing his way through the poisonous grasses, he could feel it; the eye of God laughing at him as he grit his teeth through the pain. Even if he prayed for the others not to see him—prayed for the animals to leave him be—God would spite him and kill him anyways. He looked up into the eye of God—the cameras—and prayed that you were looking down at him too, so he could at least tolerate being alive.


	27. XXVII - Nostalgia

He sipped at the rainwater he had managed to collect, the taste bad, but not enough to kill him. After all the streams were poison; anything would be better than that. He sat on the bank of the hill, and it looked very much like the one in 12. He would sit here with you and the two of you would do nothing but that; sit.

But he couldn’t do nothing and sit. He had to keep moving. 

Despite knowing that, he sat a little longer, nostalgia clogging his heart. But he wouldn’t cry. It’d be a waste of water.


	28. XXVIII - Remembrance

Perhaps being this close to death was helping to jog his memory from when he was alive. 

Your smile. Your tears. The blue dress you wore as a kid. The shitty outfit you had worn when entering the games, your face stricken with fear. Blood running in rivulets down your face. Your scowl. Your sigh. Your smell. 

The way you said ‘I love you’, as if you knew no other words. The way he had returned it.

He staggered to the crest of the hill, feeling very much as if he were walking towards death and away from your touches.


	29. XXIX - Defeat.

The girl with one eye snarled at him, but even that was a last ditch effort, for he could see the fear in her other eye. His intestines were soft and heavy in his hands, and when she threw the axe, he fell forwards as unceremoniously as possible.

Waiting, lying there… he felt very much as if he were praying for repentance. He closed his eyes, his consciousness slipping away like sand through his fingers…

Did the cannon go, yet?


	30. XXX - Winner Winner, Chicken Dinner

“How does it feel to win?” Flickerman asked, his teeth gleaming so brightly that Haymitch nearly blinded himself. He wanted to tell Flickerman to fuck off; that he hadn’t won—nobody ever did—but he remembered your warning.

_Make the media love you, or you’ll wish you’d died in there._

“Feels pretty damn good,” he replied, trying to hide the weakness in his voice. 

When finished with the interview, he collapsed into your arms, sobbing.

“You won,” you whispered to him. “We’re winners, Mitch.”

“Don’t you fucking lie to me!” he howled. 

You held him like he’d held you.

**Author's Note:**

> Elsewhere: https://goo.gl/BT4zgE


End file.
